


Portal Shards

by calculatingthestars



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingthestars/pseuds/calculatingthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles based on various prompts from the Shadowhunters TV series. They are all centered on Jace and exist in their own separate continuities. Most of these drabbles feature Jace and Alec as a romantic pairing, though there are a handful that are gen or pair him with Magnus. The chapter titles are clearly marked with the pairings they contain for ease of navigation.</p><p>My fic tag can be viewed on my <a href="http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/tagged/my-words">Tumblr here</a>. I also accept <a href="http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/146230524428/prompts-with-a-twist-accepting">prompts</a>, which you can send via Ask or DM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Art Thou? (Jace, Gen, Angst)

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1- Where Art Thou? Jace Wayland, gen, angst. Character introspection based on Valentine's reveal in 1x11.

Jace Wayland has been ready to die since he was eight years old.

He’d said as much when he and Michael found themselves surrounded by demons on his very first hunt, maws gaping wide with crimson-stained fangs. Even then, Jace had known there were too many to _fight_. Winning had seemed an impossibility, the fresh runes branded on his skin still bearing a dull ache. 

When they _survive_ , Jace bleeding from a dozen wounds, his father cradling his ragdoll body in his arms as he runs for aid, he feels enormous, _invincible_. ‘I’m alive,’ he thinks, as he looks up at his father with bleary adoration. ‘Because of you. Because of my training.’ _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Nearly a decade later, it’s a _gift_ when he finds out Michael is alive. 

They _train,_ in the dank locker room of a wolf den, and Michael hits him  _hard_ – across the face, in the soft of his belly– and Jace thinks: _thank you, thank you, thank you._

For a brief moment, despite everything that has happened with Clary _(for Clary, because of Clary)_ , with Alec and the Lightwoods, Jace wipes blood away from his mouth and thinks that everything is going to be _okay_. 

 _Father’s here_.

It all comes crashing down when Valentine reveals himself, and for the first time in his life, Jace _freezes_  during battle. His heart beats a staccato rhythm, his mouth full of ashes, the _truth_ a weight that he cannot ** _bear_**. It staggers him, brings him to his knees, and Valentine’s blade is at his throat and he just stands there, shaking.

_“Come with me, son. You know that you love me.”_

He wants to say thank you and he bites his tongue so he _won’t_ , the tang of blood filling his mouth. When Valentine shoves him away in disgust, the hooks in his heart _remain_ , deep and festering, like a scabbed over wound pumping poison in his veins.

He _needs_ Clary, but she can’t stand to look at him, her gaze skittering over his face and then away, wearing her own pain like it’s _armor_.

He _needs_ Alec– his parabatai, his _brother_ – but their bond is all but _gone_.

_“I’m going to tell **my** sister that she still has a future.”_

They are _cuts_ – deep and myriad, beneath the surface of his skin. He bleeds  _now_ more than he ever has before, so much so that he can scarcely believe he’s still alive. He leaves the door to his bedroom open– knows he needs  _help_ but doesn’t know how to _ask_ for it– and the noise outside makes his heart leap in his chest. _Alec?_ But there’s no one there, and only Valentine remains, his presence seared into Jace’s heart. 

“ _You won’t kill me. I said you were weak and I **meant** it._ ” And he _is_. He knew it when he was a child, and he knows it now, understands that the hell he’s been through has just been another lesson. Another test to get through, to make him stronger. 

 _Father knows **best**_ **.**

Jace closes his eyes and thinks: _thank you, thank you, thank you._


	2. Sex Is About Power (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”  
> Warnings: NC-17, candle wax and the boys being bastards, as per usual of this verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a [Game of Thrones AU](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/tagged/gotverse/chrono), a Jalec novella RP that I have with dnteverdoubtme over on Tumblr. All you need to know is that Jace and Alec belong to House Lightwood, Alec is sworn to the Kingsguard, and Jace is adopted but is currently the Heir to their House. They're also having a secret affair, and while they aren't brothers by blood, they do think of each other in that context, so consider yourselves warned!

“Everything in the world is about sex– _except sex_. Sex is about power.” Jace spoke with perfect calm, his features a carefully crafted mask. He could’ve been at court for all of his formality, and not, in fact, perched naked atop Alexander’s thighs.

There was a candle in his hand, pinched in between long fingers as the wax threatened to spill over the edge.

From his position on the mattress, Alec looked less than impressed. “When you asked me to let you tie me down,” he said. “I expected there to be far more fucking and far less talking.” He raised a brow, looking pointedly down at the rather impressive evidence of his arousal and then back up at Jonathan’s face. “I’ve fought and bled and nearly died a dozen times in the last year alone. Are you really threatening me with _tallow_ , brother?”

There was no indication that Jace even heard him, though he _did_ carefully tip the candle out over an extremely sensitive part of Alec’s anatomy.

The resulting curses that spilled forth would’ve made their mother blush, and only then did Jonathan allow himself a _smile_.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said. “Sex is about power. Whether it’s the utter loss of it or having it completely– there is _no_ middle ground. That’s the beauty of it, because if you think about it in this context, regardless of stature or position, whether lowborn serf or the King himself, sex is the most truthful thing there is. You give up power or you take power, and in a moment of total honesty, those are the only two things that  _matter_.”

Alexander sighed. “Are you quite finished?” he asked.

“ _No_. I’ve actually been thinking about this quite a bit,” Jonathan replied. “I wrote three scrolls about it just the other day and I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to share my theories with you.”

There was a moment’s pause as Alexander squinted up at him, trying to decide if he was serious or not, and promptly decided that he wasn’t going to risk it. Sitting up abruptly, he knocked the candle from Jace’s grip and grabbed his waist in a smooth movement, tipping him onto his back.

The look on Jonathan’s face was nothing short of priceless, and Alec smirked. “You’re shit at tying knots,” he informed him. “And you spent so much time going on about having power that you didn’t even notice I slipped them five minutes ago.”

He slipped between Jace’s parted thighs and rested his weight on him, bracing himself on his elbows. “Should I argue your point?” he asked, and he purposefully shifted against him, wringing a groan from Jonathan’s lips. “I’m hardly as eloquent as you are, but if you really wish to spend the little time I have here in _debate_ , I suppose I could oblige you.”

“Really?” Jace said, a becoming flush across his cheeks. “Because in the third scroll, I did get some fairly interesting points–”

Alec gave him a _look_ and ground down once more, _harder_ this time, and Jonathan shut his mouth with a soft click.

“Or we could just fuck,” he said.

“Or we could just fuck,” Alec agreed, and promptly suited word to deed.


	3. Knight Takes King (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It terrifies me what I would do for you.”  
> Warnings: Mature content, non-sexual voyeurism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a [Game of Thrones AU](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/tagged/gotverse/chrono), a Jalec novella RP that I have with dnteverdoubtme over on Tumblr. All you need to know is that Jace and Alec belong to House Lightwood and Jace was adopted from one of their minor Houses.
> 
> This is a prequel of sorts, and it depicts events that occur five years before the main verse.

The castle is completely silent.

Jonathan doesn’t know how long’s he’s been there, sitting and waiting in the darkened alcove, but he’s all of fifteen years old and patience is hardly his strong suit. He’s working on it, though, because he knows that he’ll never be as strong or as fast as any of the great knights that his big brother is destined to become, but his mind is keener than that of either of his adopted siblings.

Maryse herself said so the other day, and Jace knows that she wouldn’t lie to him. Not about _that_.

There’s a skitter of clawed feet on the stone floor and Jace barely suppresses a shudder; he’s itching to light the candle in his pocket and leave the rats to their nightly roam, but he knows that he’ll regret it if he does.

And so he stays, _waiting_ , in the _dark_.

He’s almost asleep by the time he hears it, the quiet murmur of Alexander’s voice, the too-heavy tread of whomever is with _him_. His fingernails dig into his palms and his entire body is tense as he fights to keep still.

_Is it another man?_

He’s holding his breath. If it’s a _woman_ , Jace would’ve wasted his entire night for _nothing_.

But the quiet laugh is unmistakable in its timbre, and the sound of scuffling fills Jace’s ears as his brother and his lover round the castle hallway and finally come into _view_.

A lesser man would’ve clapped in glee at the sight, but Jace bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood and remains _silent_.

Justin Oakthorne. Son of a minor House sworn to the Lightwoods, just as Jonathan himself had once been.

Not so, anymore, and through no charity of another. No, it had been Jace’s careful machinations, his ever present politicking within the Lightwood home that had gotten him his name and title, and now all that stands between he and ultimate Lordship of this House is Alexander himself.

Jonathan can practically see himself as Lord of Casterly Rock already; he’s so _damned_ _close_.

There’s more quiet laughter—mostly on Oakthorne’s part—and Jace rolls his eyes. _Get on with it_ , he thinks impatiently.

The two of them are barely lit by Alec’s lone candle, carefully perched on the flet of a nearby pillar. Jace’s mouth twists as Oakthorne gets on his knees for him, rolling his eyes heavenward as Alec slips his hand in his hair, holding him in place.

 _Savage,_ he thinks. But really, what else did he expect? All his brother cares about is fighting, hunting, and more fighting. _What does he know of the arts of pleasure? Nothing,_ obviously. (Never mind that Jace’s knowledge of the act is academic at _best_ ; he knows he’ll catch up soon enough.)

His eyes stray back to the scene unfolding before him, with Oakthorne undoing the ties of Alec’s breeches with painful slowness. Jace has to resist the urge to drum his fingers against the wall.

 _I’m doing you a favor, really,_ he thinks critically. _Once father finds out that you’re carrying on with one of his vassals, you’ll be disinherited. Sent to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch if I have anything to say about it, and then you can be as much of a warmongering shit as you want._

Alexander’s breathing hitches and despite his somewhat obstructed view, Jonathan can tell that Oakthorne has _finally_ taken him into his mouth. _Took you long enough_ , he thinks derisively, and finally gets to his feet.

His tread is silent as he emerges from the alcove, stepping just within the ring of candlelight and into full view of his brother. Justin’s back is to him and he continues on obliviously, but Alec sees him immediately, his eyes widening and his face paling.

 _Heir to House Lightwood_ , Jace thinks, and he’s almost drunk on the thought of it. _First in line. Casterly Rock is_ mine _._

He says none of it aloud, of course, merely keeps his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze impassive, every inch of him a little _Lord_.

Alexander’s mouth is a grim line and the hand in Oakthorne’s hair is white-knuckled in its grip.

 _Idiot_ , Jace thinks viciously, _triumphantly_ , and he sees it in his brother’s eyes, then: he knows that he’s _lost_.

He inclines his head in a mockery of a _bow_ —the very _last_ that he’ll ever pay him—and takes his leave, withdrawing as quietly as he’d appeared.

 _Tomorrow_ , Jace thinks, as he makes his way across the darkened castle and to his wing of their home, _he’ll tell their parents_. There will be tears and outrage, but Alexander won’t _lie_ when he’s confronted. Jace knows him well enough for that, at least, and he knows he’ll admit it and accept whatever punishment he’s given. Jace can already see himself whispering in his father’s ear, petitioning for the mercy of taking the Black on his brother’s behalf, Isabelle looking grateful that he even thought of it. (It could be so much worse, after all. There have been horror stories of the Faith getting involved in these sorts of things, and the Night’s Watch is a blessing compared to the _Sept._ )

 _Jace smiles_. Tomorrow, everything will _change_.

Except it _doesn’t_.

Jonathan sweeps in at breakfast and Alec isn’t there, and he finds his gaze lingering on his empty seat, at his coveted place at his father’s side.

“He’s out hunting,” Isabelle explains, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you even noticed he’s _gone_.”

“I notice _everything_ , little sister,” Jace replies, but her words unsettle him far more than they _should_.

Alexander is a _brute_ , undeserving of his Lordship, and the right to rule is in Jace’s hands now– all he has to do is _speak up and ask for it_.

But he _doesn’t_.

He tells himself that he’s merely biding his time, that he’s waiting for the most opportune and/or humiliating moment to do so.

But days pass, weeks pass, and Jonathan finds himself unable to say anything at all.

 _Am I bewitched?_ he thinks, as he leans out of the window in his room, finding his brother’s tall form in the courtyard as per usual. Alexander is particularly savage today, blocking his opponent’s swing with so much force that he literally rips the other’s weapon away from his fingers.

 _Idiot_ , he thinks, but the word comes with little rancor.

Alexander turns then, tossing his sword at his squire (who barely avoids getting his hands sliced off in the process of catching it), his chin tilting up in pure happenstance towards Jace’s window. His gaze is dark (because it’s _always_ dark), and Jace _starts_ at the realization that he’s been caught  _staring_.

Even from this distance, he can see the confusion in Alec’s eyes, and Jace jumps back from the window as if _burned_. _Had he just been–?_

He shoves the window closed so hard that the glass rattles against the metal frame. His heart is racing and he can feel it pounding in his chest; he catches a glimpse of himself on the mirror standing by his dresser, sees his wide eyes and his flushed cheeks.

 _No_.

“ _No,_ ” he tells himself aloud, and his reflection is both utterly revolted and entirely disbelieving. “It can’t be. It’s _impossible_.”

He ventures to his window again, pulling it open and sticking his head out. Alexander is now standing directly beneath him, sword in hand as he viciously hacks at a practice dummy.

“ _What?_ ” he asks tersely, not even bothering to look up from his task.

 _Savage_. “You’re too loud,” Jace shouts down at him. “Go find somewhere else to practice; some of us are trying to _study_.” 

Alexander stops, tilting his chin up to fix him with a hard glare, and Jace feels something inside of him shrivel up and _die_. Not that he would ever let him know it, of course.

“Go on,” he says, waving his hand imperiously. “ _Shoo._ ”

The frown on Alec’s face merely intensifies, and after a brief eternity, he lugs off, ridiculous sword in tow as his squire runs to keep up.

Jace steps back from the window, running his hand through his hair. He’s flushed and feverish, and he wants to _cry_ for want of his Lordship. 

 _Heir to House Lightwood_ , he thinks despairingly, seeing everything he’s worked so hard for disappear in his mind’s eye. 

He’ll never  _tell_.

Jace isn’t _bewitched_ , but he _is_ well and truly _fucked_.


	4. Wounds Too Deep To Heal (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Some wounds run too deep for the healing."  
> Warnings: NC-17, a darker version of canon probably, rough sex (I’m not kidding, if this even remotely freaks you out, stay away), shades of d/s and masochism

_His jaw hurts just from looking at him._

There’s a cut on his lip, bruising all along the side of his face, one eye swelled shut and already purpling. He’s smiling, though, because if there’s one thing that his parabatai is, it’s _consistent_.

“You should see the other guy,” Jace says, and Alec levels a glare at him, already pulling his stele from his pocket.

“Why didn’t you wait for backup?” he asks, and he’s _not_ gentle as he pulls at the tatters of Jace’s t-shirt, shoving it up so he can get at his _iratze_. The rune is one of _his_ and it glows as if it _knows_ him, knows the signature of his power as he passes the instrument over it, brows drawn together in concentration.

“One of these days,” Alec begins, but Jace cuts him off, shaking his head.

“Don’t start,” he says. Already his wounds are healing, flesh and muscle knitting back together, the splotches of watercolor against his skin fading. “I’m fine. _Better than fine_ , now that you’re here.”

He _grins_ , handsome and unrepentant, and Alec thinks, not for the first time: _something’s wrong_.

His parabatai has always been brave, but lately he’s been bordering on _reckless_ : rushing ahead without his team, picking fights with terrible odds, crawling back home ( _to him_ ) with blood in his teeth and a wild look in his eyes that Alec has never seen before. He’s going to get himself _killed_.

“ _Jace, I--_ ” But he cuts Alec off yet again, silencing him with a _hard kiss_ , and this, too, is _familiar_.

It’s a distraction, purposefully so, and Alec _knows_ this, but he also knows that he’ll let Jace use it to his advantage. They’ve done this before, more times than Alec cares to admit, and by now he knows what his parabatai _expects_.

Because Alec loves him and Jace understands this; perhaps, he thinks, Jace even loves him _back_.

But it doesn’t _feel_ like love when he galvanizes into action, shoving Jace onto his bed and ripping his shirt upwards and tearing at the buckle of his belt. It doesn’t _feel_ like love when Jace tries to kick at him, blood-flushed and warm, and Alec catches his leg and bites down _hard_ on the inside of his thigh. And it certainly doesn’t _feel_ like love when Alec shoves into him _dry_ , his jacket only half off and his legs hooked over his shoulders, those eyes of his going wide and dark and impossibly bright, all at the same time.

_Does it hurt?_ Alec thinks. _It looks like it hurts_. But he doesn’t stop, not even _close_ , because Jace gives as good as he _gets_ , struggling and shoving and biting, fingernails raking down his back, his teeth digging into the side of Alec’s neck, and he wonders, briefly, in a moment of lucid calm: _what are we doing?_

_But Jace likes it_. They’d found that out the first time it happened-- in the sparring room of all places, bloodied and bruised because they’d gone too hard, and during the last exchange, Alec had realized that his parabatai was not so much as _grappling_ with him as he was _undressing_ him, and that had been pretty much _that_.

Eventually, when Jace manages to gain the upper hand, it’s almost a _relief_. His hands are gripping Alec’s wrists so hard that they’re going to leave bruises later, pinning him to the bed as he rides him, shoving down harder and harder each time.

_It hurts_ , just a little bit, just _enough_ , with Alec’s breath slamming into his chest as his stomach tenses, trying to absorb some of the impact as he tries to curl upwards, wrenching his shoulder as he forces one of his hands free from Jace’s grip. He uses it to grip his parabatai’s hair, _wrenching it back_ , making him bare his throat to him, and he says, in no uncertain terms: “ _Show me_.”

And Jace _does_ , because he _always_ does, when they’re like this. He comes almost as if on command, eyes rolling back into his head as he keens and trembles, spilling himself against Alec’s torso. For a moment, he seems almost cast from marble, the perfect curves of muscle and bone stark against his bruised skin, his mouth red and wet and open.

And Alec thinks: _what am_ I _doing?_

When it’s over, Jace collapses on top of him, crumbling under the weight of his own body, and Alec rolls him until he’s back on top, resting between his legs. He doesn’t need to look down to know that crimson is staining the insides of Jace’s thighs. 

He moves slower now but he doesn’t stop, fucking into him with long, hard strokes, watching the interplay of pleasure and pain cross his parabatai’s face.

_How can I help you?_ he thinks, and perhaps the thought of losing Jace is what makes him _desperate_ , what makes him play the only card he _has_.

“ _Is this what you want?_ ” Alec asks, and this is the first time he speaks when they’re like this, when he’s inside him.

Jace’s eyes snap open and he looks up at him as if dazed, his mouth moving but no words coming out. Alec snaps his hips-- _once, twice_ \-- and then he’s nodding almost frantically.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jace says hoarsely. “ _Yes, yes_.” He’s too wrecked to do anything but _take_ it, the pained look on his face superseded only by his _desire_.

He reaches for Alec but he slaps it away, pinning his wrist to the bed. “ _You can have it_ ,” Alec says, and suddenly he _stops,_ his hips going perfectly _still_. “ _If you stop doing everything else._ ”

He sees in Jace’s eyes that he knows what he means, understands that he’s been caught out, _chastened_ , and there’s no hesitation when he _nods_. 

Of course he’ll agree, he’ll say anything right now. _Anything at all_. 

“ _Say it_ ,” Alec snaps, and he still won’t move, still won’t start up again despite how much his body wants to. 

Jace is trembling beneath him now, his chest heaving with short, sharp breaths. “ _I’ll stop_ ,” he says. “ _I’ll-- I’ll be more careful. I promise, I promise._ ”

The vow is thin but it’s all he _has_ \-- it’s all either of them have, really-- and Alec has to trust that it can keep his parabatai’s demons at bay. The moment stretches thin a second longer, making him _wait_  for it, but when Jace opens his mouth to _beg_ , Alec doesn’t let him.

He kisses him, _long and slow and deep_ , the bite just enough to satiate him, and when he starts to move, Jace is _hard again_.

By the time Alec allows himself to come, his sheets are ripped in two places and there are bruises all over them both, but Jace is curled into his side, his sleep unfettered and his features smooth and peaceful. 

His chest aches and _aches_ , but Alec just holds him _tighter_. 

It doesn’t _feel_ like love, but he knows that it’s all they have.


	5. Death or Glory (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Death or glory, it’s all the same Death or glory, the price of fame Death or glory, I’m in the game of Death or glory, a one way train. (Iron Maiden) Jalec

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU where the Clave is a Nephilim!supremacist organization and Valentine’s faction is fighting for freedom and Downworlder rights.  
> Warnings: Violence, murder, bad people doing bad things

_‘Took a bullet in my brain_  
Inside I’m the king of pain  
Outside you will fear my name  
I ride a blood red triplane’

The rooftop is littered with bodies, the smell of blood hanging in the poisoned air. They’ve chased Morgenstern all the way to Chernobyl, cowering like a rat amidst the ruins. His _daughter_ had led this last defense; Jace had laughed in her face before he’d broken her neck, her pulse like a triphammer under his bare hands, her gaze fiery to the last.

“ _You’ll never win_ ,” she’d spat. “My father fights for _justice_ and he’ll never give--”

Jace hadn’t bothered letting her _finish_. A hard twist and she was falling lifeless to the ground, Alec making an impatient gesture as he’d doubled back to check on him.

 _The second floor is their entry point_. They don’t bother with stairs, rapeling down from the outside with an almost balletic grace, cracked glass giving way under the onslaught of steel-toed boots. There’s no one here save for Morgenstern’s _wife_ , her face pale with grief. 

“You killed her,” she says. “You killed our daughter.” She’s barely standing, her back against the crumbling wall and her shirt soaked in red. 

They’ve been running for so hard and so long; part of Jace almost feels _sorry_  for them.

“It wasn’t hard,” he says casually. “Where’s Valentine?” His parabatai lands soundlessly beside him, his bow already knocked and ready. 

“ _You’re a monster_ ,” Jocelyn whispers. “He should have killed you when he had the chance.”

Beside him, Alec bristles. It had been the Lightwoods who’d stolen Jace away from Valentine as a child, leading a strike against the turncoat and finding _him_ alone instead, curious and questing as they’d interrupted him at _falconry_.

“ _We’re going to be friends, you and I_ ,” Alec had once said to him, and no part of Jace had been _afraid_. 

Even then, he’d _known_.

“ _Father is weak_ ,” Jace replies. “And this is the last cell of your resistance. There’s nowhere left to run.”

He’s close enough to cut her down now, the pommel of his blade heavy in his hand. He wonders how he’ll do it, almost dreamy as he considers her long neck, the thin fabric clinging to her ribs. He’s so enamored of the thought that he doesn’t even see her hand _move_ , and it’s only his bond that _rouses_ him.

“No,” Jocelyn agrees. “There’s nowhere left for _you_ to run.”

Alarm spikes from the core of him and he looks down to see the grenade in her hand-- _a mundane weapon, part of him registers in disgust_ \-- and then Alec is barreling into him, knocking the breath from his lungs as he tackles them both into the battered drywall, bursting through to the next room just as Jocelyn _pulls the pin_.

The explosion burns the air and singes them both, Alec gripping him by the collar and rolling them away from the hole he’s made, narrowly avoiding the blast of flame that pours through it like a funnel.

The smell of leather and charred skin is heavy in the air; they’d landed on their sides and Jace’s ears are bleeding, ringing, but his blood is singing and he becomes aware that he’s laughing, low and dark.

“ _Not today_ ,” he says, and Alec’s fingers tighten against his collar, a storm in his hazel eyes. 

“ _You were careless_ ,” he says, and then he lets go, rolling onto his back against the rubble with a wince. 

Together, they catch their breath, hearts beating in perfect sync, and Jace’s hand finds his parabatai’s across the rubble, interlacing their fingers in as vocal an apology as he can _manage_. 

“Not today,” he repeats, and Alec sighs, running his thumb over the pulse point at his wrist in turn. Jace can feel his parabatai’s exasperation every bit as much as Alec can feel his excitement over their brush with death. Their bond is growing stronger every day, and later, when the mission is over, Jace will kiss every complaint from Alec’s mouth and ease his remaining doubts.

" _Not today._ ”


	6. Meant To Be (Jace/Magnus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I think we were meant to be but we did it wrong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much set in the world of [Hesitation Waltz](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/tagged/waltz/chrono), a Jagnus RP I have with witchunters over on Tumblr. Jace and Magnus meet prior to the events of the show and somehow start an affair, and this is the end of it.

“Give me a reason,” Jace says. He’s standing in the middle of Magnus’ loft with his fists clenched and his chin tilted up in proud defiance. He looks so, so _young_. “ _Magnus_. Tell me to _stay_ and I _will_.”

The warlock doesn’t say a word. His gaze is hard and there’s acid in his stomach; it’s sinking in to the pit of him, right into his _core_ , and he almost wants to _laugh_ at the irony. 

He shouldn’t have; he knows better than that, doesn’t he? Proud, foolish _boy_. _He should have known better._

 _Don’t leave_ , he wants to say. _You’re stubborn and infuriating and all we do is fight. You never do as you’re told. You’re quick-tempered and loud; all traits that I abhor._

 _But still:_ stay.

Jace grows paler with every second that passes; by the time he realizes that Magnus isn’t going to say a word, he’s practically a _sheet_.

“ _You son of a bitch_ ,” he says, and he picks up a glass from the side table and hurls it against the far wall with all of his strength. It shatters; a cascade of amber liquid and broken glass. “ _I trusted you._ ”

 _It’s for the best._ He’s lived several lifetimes and he feels no wiser than he did during his first. 

_Does it always hurt this much?_

“It’s late,” Magnus finally says, and his voice is abnormally calm. “ _Go home, Jace._ ”

_Of course it does._

_That’s how you know it was_ real.


	7. Meant To Be II (Jace/Magnus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It was real, wasn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6340291/chapters/16492597

Jace is barely conscious. His torso is soaked with crimson, blood flowing sluggishly down his chest and pooling on the floor beneath him. He’s holding his hip, fingers clutching at the area spasmodically, and Magnus can’t _breathe_.

“ _Don’t move,_ ” he says, and he’s not even a little bit surprised to see that his hands are shaking, magic spilling forth as he curls ringed fingers in the space above the worst of the damage.

“ _Stele,_ ” Jace groans, and his free hand rises to grip Magnus’ collar, fisting in the fabric. 

“It won’t help you,” the warlock snaps. “You’re too badly hurt.  _You stubborn boy, I told you–_ ”

There’s a wet cough and crimson stains his _teeth_. “D-did you?” Jace asks. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention…” And he has the gall to _smirk_ , just a little one, but it quickly dissolves into a grimace of pain.

 _Don’t die_ , Magnus thinks. _Prays_ , even, though he hasn’t believed in any of  _that_  for centuries. “ _Stop talking_ ,” he says. “I’m barely keeping you together as it is.” He isn’t lying; if he wasn’t trying to heal him, he’d be tempted to look away and hope that he goes _quickly_. The wounds are deep and it’s a miracle that Jace is even still _alive_ ; the gash across his ribs is so large that Magnus can see  _bone_.

Jace ignores him, of course, because he’s _Jace_. “When you gotta go, you gotta–” he doesn’t finish the rest, and for a split-second there’s very real fear in his mismatched eyes. He knows how badly he’s hurt. He _knows_.

Magnus feels bile rise in his throat and he wants to throw up but he _can’t_ , and the only thing that keeps his magic flowing is his own _regret_. 

“…it’s okay, you know,” Jace says, and he blinks slowly, his gaze growing unfocused and slightly dreamy. “ _I… get it. Why you sent me away._ ”

 _No._ Magnus bites back a curse, his free hand rising to take the point of Jace’s chin in his hand. “Stay awake,” he says. “Do you understand? _Stay. Awake._ ”

But Jace doesn’t even flinch, his voice softening even further. “Y-you were scared, weren’t you?” he says. “Because it was _real_ …”

He can feel him fading, can feel his body begin to shut down. Magnus knows it’s _close_ , has seen death so many times that it’s almost an inevitability by now, but still he _tries_ because it’s _Jace_.

“ _Of course it was real_ ,” he says, and the relief in Jace’s eyes makes his confession all the worse. “I was an idiot.”

“ _…yeah_ ,” Jace agrees. “ _You were._ ”

His fingers tighten on Magnus’ collar before falling away, his eyes fluttering shut as he lapses out of consciousness.


	8. Family Isn't About Blood (Jace & Isabelle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jace & Izzy, "Family isn't whose blood you carry. It's who you love, and who loves you." (The Spy Next Door)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this scene is more commonly rewritten with either Alec or Clary, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about it with Isabelle when I got this prompt!

_“You know he didn’t mean it, right?”_

Isabelle’s voice is soft, but it carries. She’d passed Clary on her way down the hall to Jace’s room, the girls exchanging a glance from one sister to another. Given her recent troubles, Isabelle knows that she has the right to be _upset_ , but she figures that Alec is angry enough for the both of them. 

He’d told her what he’d said as he fetched her from her room, telling her she was free to go and recounting the bitter conversation he’d had with Jace mere minutes before. Isabelle tries not to get in between her brothers, but she can’t help the disappointed look she shoots Alec; one that he has the grace to look away from.

She sees the bowed curve of Jace’s back stiffen at her voice, and she gives him a moment to compose himself before she steps inside his room.

“I owe you an apology,” Jace says, and she’s never heard him sound so  _defeated_.

“You did what you thought was right,” Isabelle replies, and she sits beside him on his bed, the mattress dipping slightly from her weight. “We all did. And I wouldn’t have been in this mess if I hadn’t helped with Meliorn, anyway. The Clave was looking for a scapegoat and I was…   _convenient_.”

“I’m sorry,” Jace says, and finally he turns to her, his eyes clouded. “The whole thing with Clary– I know it feels like I abandoned you, like I abandoned you  _both_ , but I–”

Isabelle shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says. “What’s important is that you  _came back_.“ 

She puts her hand on his shoulder, feels the tension in his frame. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is it about Clary?” The Institute is a small place; despite her confinement, Jace’s newfound familial ties had still made it to her ears.

Her brother doesn’t speak for so long that she thinks he’s not going to answer, but finally he tells her, haltingly, about _Valentine_. He thinks he’s _broken_ , doubts eating away at him like _rot_ , and it feels so familiar that Isabelle can almost hear her mother’s disappointment echoing in her own ears.

_This, at least, she can do something about._

“You’re still you,” she says when he’s done, his mismatched eyes fixed on the far wall. “I know it seems like it couldn’t be further from the truth, especially now, but you _are_. You’re still you and you’re still my brother, and no matter what happens, I’ll always love you.” She is careful to leave Alec out of her assertions, unwilling to remind him further of what their brother had said out of turn.

There is not a single one of them _unscathed_ , hurt and bleeding beneath their skin in their own way, and Isabelle has no desire to wield the blade herself. Not against the people she loves the most.

Jace doesn’t reply but she feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. It isn’t much, _not much at all, in grand scheme of things_ , but Isabelle does what she can.

Eventually, he shifts, half-turning towards her as he slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the circle of his arms. Isabelle is reminded of their youth, reminded of when they used to fight because Jace was always so wound up, his arrogance as infuriating as it was _constant_.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

 _You’re a Lightwood, big brother_ , she thinks, and returns his embrace just as fiercely. _And Valentine will never hurt you again._


	9. We Loved Like Knives (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this prompt: "We loved like this: a knife twisting in guts, turning over and over//a knife cutting out tongues, slicing and silencing//a knife plunged into hearts, deeper and deeper."
> 
> A drabble based on a Future!verse roleplay I have with @dnteverdoubtme, which features a canon-compliant verse that occurs ten years after the events of the Mortal war. Jace and Clary part ways after being together for over a decade, and he finally confesses that he has feelings for Alec. The master list of this verse can be found [here](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/142185698453/a-futurecanon-au-written-by-ourheartsbeatas1). The drabble below depicts events some time after the events of Chapter 4: A Profile of Time.

**I. Clary**

_“Was he the reason we broke up?”_

She can’t even say his name; Jace can see the minute shiver that runs down her spine, the green eyes that are as hard as gems. He _knows_ her, as intimately as he could know anyone other than Alec himself, and he knows that the hurt runs _deep_.

 _“Were you fucking when we were together?”_ The word sounds foreign coming from her mouth; Jace winces.

She’s hurt. _Of course_ she’s hurt. After the mess with _Magnus_ , the ruin of their lives, Jace is amazed that she hasn’t slapped him.

_Her hand twitches._

“Nothing was going on before you and I broke up,” he says, and it’s cold comfort but he owes her that much, owes her the _truth_. “And I didn’t break up with you to _be_ with him, but…”

“But you’ve felt this way about him for _months_. I _knew_ something was _wrong_ , you were acting so _strangely_ right before–” Clary cuts off at the look on his face, her face draining of color.

“ _Longer?_ ” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Jace says, taking a step towards her. Clary holds up a shaking hand, and it clenches into a fist before it drops to her side.

“ _How long_ , Jace?” And he swallows hard, looks away.

“ _Since after the war._ ”

Clary doesn’t _crumple_ , but it’s _close_. She’s stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for, but Jace has seen her through two wars, fought by her side and loved her for the better part of a decade. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears and he _knows_ how much this is hurting her, regret rising in his throat like _bile_.

He wonders: _how many more people will they hurt before this is done?_

In the end, Clary leaves quietly. The years have been good to their little band, but the years have passed them _still_. The fire in her eyes is dull, _quenched for the first time in the ten years that he’s known her_ , and in his heart of hearts, Jace knows that there’s nothing left to _say_.

 

**II. Isabelle**

_“Simon doesn’t want me talking to you.”_

They’re the first words that come out of his sister’s mouth, and Jace pauses at the threshold of the apartment that she shares with Simon.

“Isabelle…” he says. “Should I leave?”

His sister’s eyes are blazing but she shakes her head, stepping back so that he can move inside. She closes the door behind him, leans against it with her arms across her chest.

“I take it someone told you?” Jace asks, and Isabelle nods.

“Clary told Simon and Simon told me,” she says. “I almost didn’t believe it. I mean, my _brothers_ decide that they’re in love after what, almost ten years of being with _other people_ , and _I’m_ the last to know?” She lets out a bitter laugh. “But I guess Alec moving out of Magnus’ loft pretty much confirmed it.”

She lifts her chin. “Why are you _here_ , Jace?”

“I thought– it was time to tell you,” Jace admits. “I didn’t realize that you’d already been told. I didn’t want you to find out that way, Iz.”

“It doesn’t matter _how I found out_ ,” Isabelle bursts out, pushing away from the door. “You _knew_ he was in love with you, you’ve known for _years_.” Her tone is sharp. _Accusing_. The underlying question hanging heavy between them: _why didn’t you say something sooner?_

Jace has no answer for his sister. He’s been asking himself the same question for years, and somehow, he doesn’t think that ‘ _he seemed happy with Magnus_ ’ is going to fly with Isabelle.

It’s his fault. He knows it’s his fault, and their circle of friends may have weathered two wars and hundreds of missions, but _this_ … This is going to tear them apart at the _seams_.

“I’d die for him,” Jace says, and it’s all that he can offer. “ _You know I will._ ”

Isabelle’s fingers clench and unclench, her dark eyes drilling holes into the back of his head. “I know,” she says grudgingly. “That’s the only reason I even let you in, Jace.”

Her face softens, ever so slightly. “I know you love him, and I know _he_ loves you,” she says. “I just wish…”

She looks away. “I love Simon,” she says. “And you know how he feels about Clary. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come by our place for now. Just for a little while, okay? Simon needs time to, to _process_ everything that’s happened. _I don’t want him to say something he’ll regret._ ”

It’s a fair request and probably far more than Jace deserves. He nods, about to turn to the door when Isabelle catches his arm, pulls him into a bruising embrace.

“I love you, Jace,” she says. “Take care of him.”

And then she turns on her heel and disappears into the kitchen, leaving the imprints of her hands against his shoulder blades.

Jace lets himself out.

 

**III. Alec**

He can’t sleep.

He lays awake and stares up at the ceiling, touches the rune at his side and wonders what Alec is doing.

 _Are you there, parabatai?_ Jace thinks, and the thrum of their bond is a steady pulse, wrapping him in warmth. It’s been like that since they’d first started their affair; Jace thinks that he won’t be able to block it even if he wants to.

_He doesn’t want to._

He’s scared to examine this too deeply, wary of the myths surrounding the law against this. Actual accounts have been muddied by time and rumor, but Jace knows the stories as well as anyone else.

It always ends in disaster, it always ends in _death_.

 _Whither thou goest, I will go…_ He closes his eyes and _concentrates_ , thinks of the answering rune on Alec’s waist and _presses down._

There. _Contact_.

He feels Alec’s _sadness_ , the sensation of his unconscious thought washing over Jace in waves. He’s sleeping– _fitfully_ , if Jace can decipher the feelings that are leaking through their bond, and he takes a breath and tries to blank his thoughts, gathering himself.

His mind is normally a fairly chaotic place and it takes genuine effort to do this, but Jace bites his lip and thinks of Alec, thinks of all of the love and friendship they’ve shared through almost two decades of their lives together, and then he  _releases_ it, sending all of it through the bond that tethers their souls.

He gasps as he makes _contact_ , warmth spreading through his body as he senses Alec _relaxing_ , the worries pressing against his mind fading away as he slips into a deeper, peaceful sleep.

 _For now,_ he thinks. _Let this ease your mind_.

Jace can feel his own heart thudding in his chest and he takes a breath, staring sightless up at his darkened ceiling and listening for the pulse of Alec’s heartbeat. Their bond is steady, true, and his breathing syncs with his parabatai’s as easily as his heartbeat does.

Whatever else happens now, he knows that there’s no going back.

 _Alec_ , Jace thinks, and knows that he’s _home_.


	10. Child of the Damned (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: He's walking like a small child But watch his eyes burn you away Black holes in his golden stare God knows he wants to go home Children of The Damned. (Iron Maiden) post finale Jace/Jalec

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part is a Jace Wayland character piece, while the second is a Jalec H/C. Contains angst and canon-typical violence; Valentine is a horrible, horrible person.

**I. Sole**

He’s standing on the deck of the Morning Star and the salt-spray of the sea is heavy in the air.

“I won’t kill for you,” Jace says, with a bravado that isn’t real. “Not now. Not ever.” 

And he thinks: _Be brave_.

Valentine regards him for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s imposing in his silence, in the quiet gravitas that permeates him, and he may not have Michael Wayland’s face, but the look in his eyes is all too familiar.

When his father _smiles_ , a shiver runs down his spine. 

 _Be brave_ , Jace thinks. _Be brave_.

A _crate_ is his home for three days, and it’s not tall enough for him to stand  in and not wide enough for him to lay down on. He’s in a crouch half the time and huddled against the corner during the other half, freezing during the night and blistering under the afternoon sun.

His throat is burning by the third day, his mouth so dry that he’s almost relieved when they open up the top, tossing a bucket of brackish water over him. They drag him out and throw him on the deck, falling to his knees in front of his father because he can’t quite _stand_.

There’s a seelie beside him, bound and bent, and Valentine puts a knife in Jace’s hand.

“Kill it,” he says.

 _Be brave,_ Jace tells himself, and the only person that loses their life that day is one of his father’s lackeys. He manages to get halfway down the deck and almost to a lifeboat before they manage to wrestle him down, shoving his face into the ground and kicking the crap out of him until he stops fighting back.

 _Conditioning_ , Michael had once called it.

But Jace had been young then, and part of him appreciates the fact that his father had so obviously held back.  _I know what’s best for you._

Clearly, he isn’t holding back any longer.

Afterwards, Jace is much more pliant when they haul him back in front of Valentine. They put the knife in his hand and he can barely make a fist around it; two of his fingers are broken.

“You’re my son,” his father says. “Swear yourself to me and all this will end.”

Jace throws the knife away.

_This time, he’s in the crate for a week._

Nephilim constitutions are hardier than that of mundanes, but at the core of it, Jace is still a _man_. Without his stele, he can’t activate his nourishment rune, and he starves and thirsts just like any human. They give him water that they tip into the top of the crate with a bucket; Jace has to catch it with his bloody hands but he doesn’t care, gulping it down greedily.

They try just once more with the seelie, but when Jace says ‘no’ a second time, Valentine just kills her himself. 

And he makes it _last_.

Jace tries to _help_ , to fight back, but three men hold him down and one fists his hand in his hair and wrenches his face up so that he’s forced to _watch_.

The seelie’s screams are blood-curdling, _eternal_. Jace wants to throw up; he hasn’t cried in over a decade but his face is wet now, begging his father to _stop_. 

_He’s not brave, he knows that now, he’s not brave at all and he’s nothing but a coward because he can’t bear this and all he wants to do is **go home** \--_

Valentine wipes the blood from his hands with an expensive-looking handkerchief, steps toward Jace and clucks his tongue.

“ _Now look at what you’ve done._ ”

 

**II. Survivor**

It’s another three weeks before his family finally finds him.

Valentine had stopped giving him a knife when Jace had tried to cut his own throat with it, and they find him rotting in the bowels of the Morning Star, all but forgotten in their makeshift brig.

His father had apparently been occupied with his war elsewhere, the ship safely docked and with a skeleton crew left behind to guard it. Enough for a stealthy strike, enough for three shadowhunters to sneak aboard.

It’s Clary who finds him but Alec who carries him out; he’s so weak that he can’t even stand, the iratze that his parabatai activates doing little more than rousing him to consciousness. He can see the flutter of red hair from the corner of his eye, can hear the comforting whisper of Isabelle’s voice, can feel the beat of Alec’s heart ( _fast, light, furious_ ), against his temple.

Jace passes out.

He finds out later that it had been an unsanctioned mission. The Clave had declared him a traitor and it’s only his sister and the Lightwoods that have stood by him, actively trying to find him instead of pursuing Valentine and the cup.

The next time Jace wakes up, he’s in his own bed.

For a moment, he almost wonders if it had all been a dream. His injuries have been healed and he feels no worse than usual, but when he gets a hand on his torso and feels the outline of his ribs, he knows that it was real. 

When he wakes even further, he realizes he’s not alone. Clary is sound asleep beside him and Isabelle is curled up on his couch. Alec is slouched over in a chair beside his bed, practically bent in half as his head rests on his folded arms atop Jace’s mattress. 

His stele is still clutched in his fingers.

Jace sits up gingerly, loath to wake any of them, and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees fresh healing runes down his forearm. He holds it up, touches the raised flesh: _Amissio_.  _Mendelin_.

"It was that bad,” Alec says quietly, and Jace turns to look at him. His eyes are open and his voice is muzzy with sleep, but he’s pushing himself up from Jace’s bed with a grimace.

“You found me,” Jace says softly. “All of you.” His voice breaks, just a little, and Alec pulls him close, folds him into his arms.

He’s always been bigger than Jace, even when they were little, and the solid weight of him is a comfort that’s all too familiar.

“We’re always going to find you,” Alec says, and his voice is gruff, his arms tightening around him. “ _We’re always going to bring you home._ ” 

Jace shudders and clings, his hand fisting in his shirt as he tries to keep the memories from overwhelming him.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it,” he confesses. _"I wanted to end it, I wanted, I tried to--”_  He chokes on the word. “I wasn’t brave enough.”

" _Jace._ ” Alec pulls back, cups his face in his hands and looks him in the eye. “You’re the bravest man I know. Whatever Valentine said or did, that’s not who you are. You know that, right?"

He grips Alec’s wrists, closes his eyes. In spite of himself, _Jace nods_. 

“You survived him once,” Alec says, and he pulls him back into a solid embrace. “When you were ten.” His hand is heavy against Jace’s nape and it keeps him there, quieting the chaos of his thoughts.  _Grounding him._  

"Parabatai... I know you can do it _again_.”

It’s a journey they’d made together in the past, a myriad of hurts healed by friendship and love, and Alec’s unspoken pledge holds no less weight a decade later. 

And somehow, even after everything, even after the Morning Star... Jace is still brave enough to believe him.


	11. The Siege (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Because you don't matter to me, Lord Edmure. Your son doesn't matter to me. The people in the castle don't matter to me. Only Cersei. And if I have to slaughter every Tully who ever lived to get back to her, that's what I'll do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jalec. A one-off AU drabble set within our GOT!verse. Warning for Jace and Alec being horrible people, as per usual. This happens some years after the events of Alec’s furlough at Casterly Rock, when House Tully and House Lightwood are at war.
> 
> [Our Game of Thrones fic masterlist can be found here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/146411835228/a-game-of-thrones-au-written-by-dnteverdoubtme)

“Do you imagine yourself a decent person?” Lord Edmure’s voice is barely above a hoarse whisper, the skin of his wrists torn and bleeding. He’s tied to the stake in the center of the tent, mud caked on his tattered clothing and crumbled in his hair.

“You’ve massacred my family, kept me in a cell for years. I haven’t seen my wife since our wedding night,” his voice breaks then, and Jonathan has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “ _I’ve never held my son..._ ”

Edmure smells like _excrement_ , and the very sight of him offends Jace.

“The Lightwoods are a curse upon Westeros,” the lord continues. “And if I could... if I _could_ , I would burn your house to the _ground_.”

Jace regards him for a moment, his neutral expression never wavering. His brother is barely a step behind him, an imposing presence in his crimson armor; Jace doesn’t have to turn around to know that he’s _glaring_.

“I don’t think I need to remind you that we’re at war,” Jace says, his voice almost apologetic. His hands are clasped loosely behind his back and he takes a step forward, subjecting himself further to Tully’s _stench_. “I offered you _terms_ \-- far better than your House deserves, by the way-- and you _declined_ them.”

“Riverrun’s walls are nearly impenetrable, and my brother informs me that the number of men we’d lose trying to storm it would be wasteful indeed,” Jace continues. “Diplomacy seems to be the most favorable recourse for both of us now, however _much_ you seek to protest.”

“ _Our castle has provisions for years_ ,” Edmure spits out. “Waste your time at siege, then; I have no compunction to treat with you.”

Jonathan laughs lightly, shaking his head. “Don’t you?” he asks. “You know, my _brother_ has a taste for _war_. If I asked him to, he would _stay_. He would wage war on you and your House for however long he needed to, and when at last your stores run dry and your men are starving, he would find a way into your castle and burn you all inside it.”

Jace sighs, stepping around Edmure and back to Alec’s side. “But I, on the other hand, _enjoy my finery_ ,” he says. “Unlike Alexander, I prefer my food well-prepared and my clothing _unsoiled_.” He reaches out, cupping Alec’s jaw. “When I let my brother _fuck me_ , I prefer he do it on my bed in Casterly Rock, on top of my favorite silk sheets.”

“Surrounded by all twelve of his pillows.” Alexander’s voice is low, mirth shining darkly in his eyes. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, his fingers splayed against it like a lover’s caress.

 _Later_ , Jace thinks, and his lips twitch into a smile, in stark contrast to Tully’s expression of disgust.

“War is _boring_ ,” he continues. “And I see no reason to waste Lightwood men on a fool’s errand. _You_ are the Lord of Riverrun. I have you, I have your wife, and I have your infant son.”

“Tell your men to _surrender_ , or I’ll send word to the Twins and have your child brought to me,” he says. “And Alexander will launch him at Riverrun with his catapult.”

His brother makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, and Jace smiles up at him, momentarily forgetting their prisoner as he presses a kiss against the side of his throat.

“You have until dawn to give me your answer, Lord Edmure,” Jonathan says, and he holds his brother’s gaze for a moment longer before pulling away.

_“See that you choose wisely.”_

_\---_

Outside, the night air is crisp and smooth, a welcome change from Tully’s rank tent. Jonathan waits until they’re out of earshot from the guards before turning to his brother, fixing him with a bemused smile.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asks, and Alec raises an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying my suffering at your filthy camp.”

“ _Hardly_ ,” his brother replies, but there’s a smile playing across his lips when they reach Jace’s tent. It’s twice as big as everyone else’s and covered in gold trim, the Lightwood flame stitched prominently along the crimson sidings.

He pushes open the heavy flap and allows Jace to precede him, letting it fall shut behind them.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to fuck on a bed, you know,” Jace sighs, and he’s already tugging at the pauldrons on Alec’s shoulders, nimble fingers undoing the straps with ease. “And I have bruises on my knees from last night.”

“You _like_ it when I bruise you,” Alexander points out, and his hands are on the collar of Jace’s golden tunic ( _seriously, who wears a_ robe _to a war camp?_ ), having gotten better at undoing laces but still impatient after all this time.

“I like it when _you_ bruise me,” Jace complains, and he drops Alec’s armor carelessly to the carpeted floor. “I don’t like it when I get bruises from _pebbles_ because the squire who laid my tent down forgot to sweep the ground under the carpets.”

Alexander pauses, reexamining the floor once more. “There are _four_ carpets here,” he says. “There are lords who sleep on _mattresses_ that aren’t as thick.”

“The poor ones, probably,” Jace says, and the snobby little sniff that he makes is more than enough to have Alec picking him up and tossing him over his shoulder. 

His brother has brought a war table and Alec sweeps a hand across it, knocking both map and ornate carved pieces to the ground.

“Hey!” Jace protests, and Alec sets him down on top of it, forcing his way between his brother’s legs and giving him a _look_.

“Next time, leave the table and bring a mattress,” he says. He’s made do with bits of tree bark and a map sketched onto the ground in the past, but Jace has always enjoyed his finery. “But if it means that much to you, you can put it all back tomorrow.”

Jace pouts; Alec wants to lick him. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he continues. “Thanks to that silver tongue of yours, Edmure will _cave_ , and you’ll be home in a week.”

 _That_ makes Jonathan brighten, and he wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him down on top of him. The table is hard but smooth, and it’s vastly preferable to the uneven ground.

“Silk sheets,” he sighs. “Incense and candles and _twelve pillows_.” 

He would’ve gone on, but Alexander shuts him up with a hard kiss; there are limits to his patience, after all, and he has no desire to hear his brother moan about Dornish silk while he’s fucking him.

Fortunately, Jonathan is easy enough to distract, and by the time he’s slick with sweat and his own seed, the only name that he remembers to shout is _Alexander’s_.

_As it should be._


	12. In Love With You As I Am (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quote prompt: "Light reflects from your shadow. It is more than I thought could exist. You move through the room like breathing was easy. If someone believed me they would be as in love with you as I am." --Angels by The xx

Part of him knows that it’s _wrong_.

He knows what his parents think of people like _him_ , knows what his friends would say behind his back if they _knew_. He knows that even Izzy, as much as she loves him, would balk at the knowledge that he’s in love with _Jace_ , with someone who is his brother in every way but _blood_ , that she’d revile him for _that_ if not his multitude of other _sins_.

The blood of angels runs in Alec’s veins but there is _poison_ there also, rising inside of him like a tide, sweeping over him and tainting him, staining his heart with _tar_.

“ _There’s something wrong with me_ ,” Alec says to himself, and his fingers are clenched into fists and he can only stare into his own reflection; a stranger in his own skin. 

There is a dull crash and he stares at the shards littering the sink before him, crimson splattering across the basin. His knuckles are cut up, torn and bleeding, but he doesn’t even feel it.

 _It’s not me_ , he thinks, and by the time he’s emerging from the bathroom, Jace is hovering in his doorway-- all big eyes and knobby knees, his hair unkempt from slumber.

“Are you okay?” his parabatai asks, and the _lie_ that he wants to tell bubbles up, clawing its way up his throat and making a space for itself on his _tongue_.

“Of course I am,” Alec hears himself say. “It was an accident, that’s all.” 

Jace is sixteen and he looks like a skittish colt; he can feel the unrest through their bond but doesn’t know what to _do_. It’s still so new, this thing between them, and everyday Alec asks himself if he’s done the right thing and everyday he looks at Jace and knows that he never had a _choice_.

"Let me see, then,” Jace says, and his hands are too gentle when he touches him, drawing his stele out of his pocket. Alec wishes that he were _rougher_ , wishes that he would act like he does when he’s out _there_ , in the world outside the bubble of their friendship. But there’s no trace of the cocksure, insufferable teenager as Jace tends to him, and his parabatai like _this_ is too quiet, too worried... _Too much_.

 _How can I_ not _love you?_ Alec thinks, and he looks away when Jace passes the stele over the _iratze_ at his hip, bites his lip and tries not to _feel_.

" _Better?_ ” Jace asks, and his chin tilts up, mismatched eyes reflecting nothing but warmth and concern. He’s still holding Alec’s hand in both of his, and though the flesh has all but healed, he’s still _bleeding_.

Sometimes, Alec doesn’t think he’ll ever _stop_.

Wordlessly, he nods, and a _beat_ passes between them as Jace’s fingers tighten against his. _Let go_ , Alec pleads, but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud. Instead, his other hand comes up and cups Jace’s cheek, touches him like he’s the most precious thing in the world and he can _feel_ it, can feel his parabatai holding his breath, his entire body gravitating towards Alec as if pulled forward by an unknown force.

He realizes then, with a certainty that he has never felt before, that if he _kissed_ Jace, his parabatai would _let him._ There is love-- just _love_ , uncomplicated and unfettered-- reflected in those eyes of his, and the trust that softens his features would bring any nephilim to their knees.

They’re too close now and Alec pulls Jace in the rest of the way, fitting his parabatai into the circle of his arms and trying to ignore the surprise that makes him _tense_. Jace’s chin is pressed awkwardly into his shoulder and for a split-second Alec thinks he might resist, but in the end, he sags into the embrace.

He can feel the sigh against his cheek, the barest brush of his parabatai’s mouth against his jaw, and something inside of Alec _crumbles_.

 _It’s for your own good,_  he wants to say. _You've been through enough; you don’t need what comes with this, too_. But it’s too much to think about, let alone say out loud, and he holds Jace until their breathing syncs and evens out, holds him like he did when they were _children_.

It’s not enough, _not nearly enough_ , but Alec pulls back just enough so that he can look into Jace’s eyes. “ _I love you_ ,” he says. “You know that, right?”

It takes too long for the nod to come, and it’s hesitant, _fleeting_. Alec wants to shake him, but Jace is already pulling away, refusing to meet his eyes as he says good night.

Alec doesn’t stop him from leaving, watches him go as he trudges to the door.

“ _It’s for your own good_ ,” he says, last ditch and desperate, but he tastes the words out loud and they still sound like a _lie_.

And Jace is already halfway out but he stops at that, turns his chin and fixes Alec with a resolute stare.

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says. “But until you do... _I’ll wait._ ”

The door shuts with a soft thud and Alec’s shock is evident, incomparable. He stands rooted to the spot for a long moment, staring at the space that Jace has left, and he feels the last of the throbbing in his knuckles fade away completely.

He’s not okay, but for the first time in a long time... he thinks that someday, _he will be._

_\---------------_

_And with words unspoken_  
A silent devotion  
I know you know what I mean  
And the end is unknown  
But I think I'm ready  
As long as you're with me 

_-The XX - Angels_

 


	13. Flesh and Blood (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quote prompt: "— It’s the flesh-and-blood you I need." -Simone de Beauvoir in Letters To Sartre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon-typical violence, torture, and angst. So we’ve been getting a lot of BTS photos of the cast lately, and in almost every single photo I’ve seen of Dom, Jace has been pretty beat-up. I’ve written at times in the past about Jace’s relationship with Valentine and how brutal he could be, and this is one of those times. Also, I saw [this BTS picture](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/150348713163/its-the-flesh-and-blood-you-i-need-simone) and pretty much just took off from there.

_He's left hanging there for days_. 

Jace’s arms are shackled far above him, his toes barely grazing the dirty floor. His side is throbbing, his face a mess of bruises, and the skin around his left eye is purple and tender to the touch.

_There is a lesson to be learned here_ , his father says, (because there is _always_ a lesson, taught to him through bloody fists and the almost tender tread of a booted foot against his sternum), _and you won't be allowed to leave until you’ve learnt it._

So Jace hangs, (as if he had a _choice_ ; and that's the biggest joke of all) and waits and waits and _waits_ , until he's delirious with pain, half-mad with thirst and his nourishment rune is a faded, useless thing. He feels like _meat_ , or perhaps a discarded _toy_ , a band stretched so tight that any further tension will surely, surely snap it ( _him_ ) in _half_.

Time passes and he counts the days via how many beatings he receives, and by the fifth day, his hands are grey from the lack of circulation and he’s afraid to look up.

Jace doesn’t sleep, _not really_ , but he lapses in and out of consciousness, and sometimes he even has _good_ dreams. 

Mostly, they’re abstract; feelings of safety and love that he’d thought he’d long since _forgotten_. Once, he even dreams of _Alec_ , and he cups his hands in a lake of fresh water, tips the liquid into Jace’s mouth.

_Parabatai_ , he says.

When Jace comes to, everything is just a little bit _worse_.

The beatings start right on schedule, and he tries to keep his body tense to ward off the blows but he’s so, so tired. He burns during the day and freezes during the night, and the tide of despair is threatening to overwhelm him. He spits blood to the floor and his eyes meet his father’s for a split-second, and he’s almost temped to ask for mercy, but there’s only disappointment in Valentine’s eyes and Jace bites his _tongue_.

The next time he passes out, _Alec_ touches his cheek, his hazel eyes a storm of color and fear. 

" _Survive._ "

After a full week passes, Jace has no idea if his father will ever let him go. Perhaps the lesson is that only the strong survive, and that Valentine will leave him to rot if he can’t manage to get away.

But his hands are numb and the skin of his wrists is raw and bleeding, the cold iron scraping at his flesh with every minute moment. The manacles are locked tight and warded besides; it’s not as if Jace hasn’t been _trying_.

That night, he doesn't dream of Alec, which is just as well. 

It's the flesh-and-blood _him_ that he needs-- fiercely, _desperately_ \-- not the wisp that his subconscious taunts him with every chance it gets. 

_Just once more_ , he thinks, and it’s barely even a _thought_ , just a small, desperate prayer whispered to an Angel who doesn’t care.

_Jace wants to say goodbye._

They’re especially brutal that day, and for the first time, one of them actually pulls a _knife_. 

By the time day nine rolls around, the only thing keeping his heart pumping is his sheer refusal to _die_.

The door to his cell clangs open and Jace hasn’t the strength to even _flinch_ , rag-doll _weak_ as he hangs there, head bowed.

“ _Back for more?_ ” he asks, unable to keep the tremor from his tone, cursing himself for the show of weakness. “ _I could go on all day._ ”

But the voice that answers him is not his father's, and for an honest, painful moment, Jace actually thinks he’s _died_.

Because his name doesn’t _sound_ like that, his name doesn’t come from _anyone’s_ mouth in a gasp of such earth-shattering relief and despair, and he almost can’t compute what’s happening because the miasma of pain that he’s been floating in is finally-- _unbelievably--_   **ending**.

“ _Am I dead?_ ” he asks, but his legs are dead weight and he bites back a sob when his arms are finally released from their chains, the numbness giving way to a shock of blinding pain.

It’s not a dream and he’s not dead, and Alec cradles him as if he weighs almost nothing, his heart beating swift and strong against Jace’s cheek. 

“ _Try not to talk_ ,” his parabatai says, and from somewhere far away, Jace feels a small hand touch his cheek, hears Clary’s voice murmur something soft and Isabelle’s hushed response.

He can’t make out the rest of it, but they’re _here_ , human and solid, his _family_ ( _the real one_ )-- and Jace lapses into unconsciousness to the lullaby of their _escape_.

_It’s finally over._


	14. Original Sin (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, violence, mature themes. NC-17. Dark!Alec, Mob!AU where Jace gets adopted by the Lightwood crime family and is expected to join the business when he comes of age. Spoiler Alert: He doesn’t want to.
> 
> [Accompanying photo manip on my Tumblr here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/150826248398/original-sin-jalec-angst-violence-mature)
> 
> This drabble has been expanded into a full-on novella-length verse, [which can be read here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/tagged/sinverse/chrono)

_Jace kills his first man when he’s twenty years old._

He goes to Alec with blood still on his hands, the gun shoved into the holster at his side, slapping against his rib cage with every step. In many ways, he feels like he’s been preparing for this his whole life, his fate sealed the day the Waylands had been murdered in cold blood, the day Robert Lightwood had come to collect him from the police station. (Or perhaps it had been before that, when Robert and Michael had met in college, turning into best friends and even better confidants.)

_The sins of the father,_ he thinks, _will always come back to haunt you._

Jace’s hands are shaking when he shuts the door behind himself, and Alec takes one look at him and sends Starkweather away with a flick of his wrist.

“ _You did it, then_ ,” he says. The window at the back of his office overlooks the warehouse floor, where canisters of white powder are being loaded into unassuming crates. Alec is dressed immaculately, as always, not a single hair out of place as he studies his adopted brother. Everything about him is in stark contrast to Jace’s disheveled, bloody state, and there’s very little about him that still remains true to the boy that Jace had first met so many years ago.

" _Lewis is dead,_ ” Jace replies. “And I want _out._ ”

Alec’s eyes flicker at the last, and he puts down the cargo manifest he’d been looking over, crossing the room in a handful of long strides. “Did anyone see you leaving his apartment?”

Jace balks at the question. “Did you hear what I said?” he demands, voice rising. “I _killed_  a man. A _witness_. Alec, I _can’t_ \-- _I can’t do this_.” Alec tries to put a hand on his shoulder but Jace shoves it away, the platinum crest of their rings flashing in the dim light. 

It had meant so much to him when Maryse had slipped it onto his finger last year, his smile so wide that it had threatened to split his face in two. Alec had already started working for their family the year before, and Jace had seen him grow increasingly colder, had felt him pulling away. He’d thought this would bring them closer together again, like the way things were when they’d been best friends.

In a way, it _has_.

Jace wants to throw up.

Every time he closes his eyes, he can see the look on Simon’s face, surprised but pleased at his presence, the easy shrug as he’d invited him into his apartment. 

Even with the silencer, the sound of the gun shot had been _deafening_.

“I _tried_ ,” Jace says. “I did what you asked me to and I _tried_ , but-- _This isn’t the life I want._ I can’t be this person.”

His voice takes on a desperate note. “If you care about me at all--” Jace cuts off. “ _Please, Alec_... tell Robert to _let me go_.”

They’re standing so close together that Jace can smell the aftershave he uses, shuddering at the feigned closeness. He feels dizzy at the proximity, afraid that Alec can see every secret that he has, bubbling beneath the surface. Jace has been in love with him ever since he’s known what love _is_ , and when he tries to back away, Alec reaches for him, taking the point of his chin between forefinger and thumb.

“Do you remember when you were ten?” he asks, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “You used to crawl under your bed with a flashlight because you were afraid of the dark. It took some time but you got over what happened to your parents.”

He nods at the blood. “You’ll get over this, too,” he says. “Soon it’ll just be business as usual.”

Jace tries to pull away but Alec’s hold tightens, just _enough_ , and he stays where he is.

“Has it been too long since the last time?” Alec asks, tone so overly solicitous that it can’t be anything but _fake_. “You should’ve just _asked_  if you wanted my attention.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Jace says, but his protest is weak, even to his own ears. They don’t _talk about this._ They’d don’t talk about the nights that Jace lays awake, listening for his tread in the hallway, waiting for his quiet knock. They don’t talk about Alec in his bed, (inside of  _him_ ), leaving marks in places that no one else will see, long fingers covering his mouth as they slide together in the sticky dark; yet another one of the Lightwood family’s dirty little secrets.

His back hits the wall before he even realizes that Alec has backed him into it, forced to crane his neck as he’s bracketed by two solid arms. They don’t do this here, _they can’t_ , but it appears that Alec doesn’t care about the men working the warehouse below, doesn’t care that _anyone_  could come up at any moment-- _Jace hadn’t locked the door_ \-- and his heart is pounding in his chest and Alec is shoving a leg between his thighs and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, _Jace doesn’t_ _care_ , either.

Adrenaline and fear surges and his hips buck into the hand that’s palming him between his legs, his breath coming in short gasps as Alec keeps him in place by the sheer bulk of him, his hand working at the buckle on his belt and finally, _finally,_ wrapping around his cock.

Alec doesn’t take his eyes off of his face the entire time that he jerks him off, the dark intensity of his gaze boring into his skull, and it doesn’t take much before Jace is coming into his hand, muffling the sound he makes by biting into Alec’s shoulder. He’s clinging to him with everything he’s got and slumps down to the floor when Alec finally releases him, breath slamming into his chest as he tries to pull himself together. 

“There, isn’t that better?” Alec asks, and Jace looks up to see him wiping his hand on a monogrammed handkerchief.

His head is swimming, body coming down from the state of panic he’s been in for the entire night, and Alec pulls him up as soon as he manages to right his clothing, hands lingering at his waist.

Jace swallows hard. “ _Alec, this isn’t-- It doesn’t have anything to do with_ us _,_ ” he says. “ _I don’t, I_ can’t _\--”_

But this time, Alec cuts him off, losing whatever vestige of patience he’d had left. “There’s no such thing as _out_.” Both his voice and his grip _hardens_. 

“You’re family,” he says. “You’re _mine_.”

He lets that sink in a moment before he steps away, and Jace looks down to see that he’s taken the _gun_. Alec’s holding it with the tips of his fingers, carefully avoiding the handle and trigger that Jace’s fingerprints are so carefully preserved on. 

_The threat couldn’t have been clearer if he’d made it out loud._

Alec shrugs as he drops it onto his desk. “ _Nod_ if you understand me.”

Numbly, Jace  _does_.

“Good,” he says, and resumes his place by the window, casually folding his hands behind his back. “Now go and get yourself cleaned up; you don’t want father to see you like that.”

The dismissal stings; Jace burns with shame as he heads to the door, staying his hand mid-turn when the other calls after him.

“And Jace?” Alec says, turning his chin just enough so he can see him from the corner of his eye. “ _Leave your door unlocked tonight._ ”

There’s a pregnant pause as Jace stands there, and he doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that even after all of this, Jace  _still_  wants him ( _needs him, loves him_ ), or the fact that Alec, in that infuriatingly calm way of his, _knows all of this._

Jace wants to _scream_ , to take him by the lapels and slam him against the window, to beg him to _stop_ , to be his best friend again, but he can see in Alec’s eyes that the blood staining him has dripped crimson into his _soul_. There’s no going back for him, not anymore, and Jace can run and rot in prison, or he can stay and drown with him.

In the end he leaves quietly, shutting the door behind him with a final thud.

He doesn’t say _yes_ out loud, but he suspects Alec’s heard his answer all the same.


	15. IDIC (Jace/Alec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "One universe has us right, of all the millions stacked on millions. So it’s not this one. I can live with that."  
> Five universes, infinite hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for canon-typical violence. Also: Star Trek fans will recognize the title, I’m sure. ;)

**ONE.**

_They’re best friends._

They meet at the Academy-- _all bluster and youth_ —and Jace is golden and everyone loves him. Alec falls in love in spite of himself, pretends that the casual arrogance doesn’t bother him, that he doesn’t care that Jace aces test after test without even trying.

He works himself at the range so hard that his fingers bleed, but even then, he doesn’t come close to Jace’s kill count at classes, however simulated.

Resentment builds alongside his love, but how can he say it aloud? It’s an unworthy thought, _bitter on his tongue_ , and he hates himself for the _jealousy_ almost as much as he hates himself for his _love_.

When Jace’s father comes round to see him at the end of the year, he speaks to him with stern eyes and Jace won’t meet his gaze. Alec wants to come over and introduce himself, but something about his friend’s demeanor warns him away.

He understands _later_ , when he sees the bruises on Jace’s face, the split lip and the trail of purple splotches across his ribs.

“ _We were training,_ ” Jace says, _both true and untrue_ , and Alec says nothing as he takes the stele from his shaking hand.

He isn’t jealous anymore, after that.

**TWO.**

_They’re never meant to meet._

They do anyway, like two planets orbiting the same sun, aligning for a brief moment in a split-second bridge so easily _missed_.

Jace’s cane stubs the sidewalk and he missteps; a man in a suit shoulders him out of the way and New York’s unforgivable pedestrian traffic does the _rest_.

His mind is spinning as he reaches out, grasps for something-- _anything_ \-- familiar. He’s lost _count_ , (a hundred and ninety four steps from the subway exit to the cafe that he works at and he can’t be late again or he’ll get _fired_ ), and there’s a brief, powerful moment of _panic_ in the crush of moving bodies, and Jace fumbles for his phone but someone jostles it out of his hand.

“ _Wait--_ ” He tries to hone in on the noise as it drops, but there’s too many competing sounds and he’s scrabbling for nothing, a blind man on his hands and knees on the sidewalk and Jace is cursing himself for his _helplessness_ \--

_“Are you okay?”_

The voice is warm but unfamiliar, and there’s a rustle as someone takes a knee in front of him. “ _I saw you drop this._ ” Long fingers take his hand and put his phone into the center of his palm. “Can I help you up?”

The panic ebbs in spite of himself, the trip hammer beat of his heart eventually slowing to something more manageable. Jace takes a moment to steel himself-- breathes in and out a couple times and the stranger doesn’t _push_ \-- before he nods _once_. Slowly.

“ _Please._ ”

_They’re never meant to meet_ \-- not here, _not really_ \-- but once Alec’s hand finds Jace’s in the middle of a crowded New York street, he never lets go again.

 

**THREE.**

_They’re rivals._

Jace arrives with a small delegation to assess the aptitude of the New York Institute’s recently appointed leadership, and Alec dislikes him _immediately_.

He reeks of _arrogance_ , questioning his every move and smirking infuriatingly at every answer. Jace inspects everything from their emergency reaction time to the locks on Alec’s floor safe, trailing after him with his perpetually quirked brow and constantly getting underfoot.

“The only thing less impressive than this Institute is you as its head,” Jace comments once, running a finger against the underside of Alec’s desk as if checking for dust. There isn’t any, of course, but Jace smirks as if there _was_.

_Alec has never wanted to punch anyone so badly in his entire life._

It takes approximately thirty-six hours before they take each other to bed, arguing all the while.

 

**FOUR.**

_They’re brothers._

Jace meets Clary in high school and he falls in love hard and fast; the star athlete and the quirky artist. No one thinks they’re going to last.

When Jace is twenty-four and Alec is twenty-seven, he asks Clary to marry him.

Alec stands as his best man, smiles so widely and lies so well that only the people who know him best understand that he’s _bleeding_ inside.

Afterwards, Isabelle takes him by the hand, _wordless,_ leads him to the sink and they wash the blood from the cuts on his palms. Crescent-shaped and rust-colored, she **doesn’t** ask: “Are you okay?”

_She knows he isn’t._

**FIVE.**

_They‘re parabatai._

Jace is twenty years old and he meets a redhead at a club, plays the hero and figures that he’s falling for her. _(He isn’t.)_

When his own face appears in the mist of the greater demon’s summoning, the shock as he turns to Alec is genuine and pure. He hadn’t known; _how could he not have known?_

Izzy shouts that it’s okay, but Alec is already panicking and his hand is slipping free from Jace’s grip. After that, everything is a _blur_ , the wind getting knocked out of Jace as they play tug of war with him as the rope.

By the time he comes to, Alec is already halfway across the room, looking at him with hurt eyes and Jace can’t stand the look on his face.

_How could he not have known?_

They _fight_ later, because Jace wants to talk about it and Alec _doesn’t_ , and they get physical on the floor of Alec’s bedroom because Jace actually had to _break in_  and his parabatai wants nothing more than to _throw him back out_.

It gets bloody fairly quick because Alec is hardly above fighting dirty when he really, _really_  doesn’t want to talk about something, and by the time Jace gets him in a headlock, his nose is at an odd angle and blood is pouring down his lower lip.

_"Yield,”_  Jace snarls, and Alec’s body tenses minutely before he shakes him, thumping him hard against the floor. “ _You owe me an iratze, Lightwood.”_

The fight finally goes out of Alec at that, and he at least has the grace to look chagrined as he surveys the damage he’s done to Jace’s face. To his credit, he rights it quickly, snapping the cartilage back into place before drawing a fresh rune on Jace’s shoulder.

" _I’m sorry_ ,” Alec says without looking at him. “I know it changes things. I was just hoping that--”

“That I’d just pretend it never happened?” Jace asks. “Parabatai, you have to know that I love you, too. We’ve known each other our whole lives, you’re my best friend, the other part of my _soul_. How can we _not_ love each other?”

He reaches out, grips the other’s nape and hauls him closer. “And as for the rest of it?” Jace bows his head, touching his forehead to Alec’s. 

For the first time since the whole thing started, Alec gets an actual look into his parabatai’s mismatched eyes, at the wealth of emotion and love that runs so much deeper than he’d ever dared fathom. 

There’s intimacy in the action, _deep-seated and electric_ , as if there’s a new undercurrent running beneath everything that makes Alec _shiver._

By the looks of it, Jace feels it, too.

“ _We’ll figure it out,_ ” he says, and it’s a promise that Alec believes. 

_“Together.”_


	16. The Art of Drowning (Jace. Gen, Angst)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen. Angst. Jace Wayland. Jocelyn Fairchild. Valentine Morgenstern. Character introspection; spoilers for Shadowhunters s2x01. A companion piece of sorts, to my s1 drabble “Where Art Thou?”.

_“How lonely it is_  
_To be drowning,_  
_in a place_  
_where everyone can swim.”_  
― B. Damani

* * *

_**“That’s my boy.”** _

The air is thick with ash and for a split-second Jace’s vision blurs from it, the vampire’s remains dissipating like steam from a grate. It hardly matters; Jace can still see her _face_ – the defiance, the _rage_ – frozen in his mind’s eye, the _kill_  thrumming through his bones as his fingers clench and _clench_  against the splinter of wood in his hand.

 _Murderer._ He’s a _murderer_ , he’s broken Clave law, the vampire _surrendered_ and Jace killed her anyway, and the realization that everything Valentine said about him is true makes him want to _vomit_.

It’s only years of training that rouses him from this waking nightmare, the pullback of a crossbow bolt deafening in the still night air. 

 _ **Threat**_. He _knows_ this, ( _he’s enough of himself to still know this_ ), and he turns his chin to stare at ~~his~~   _Clary’s_ mother, watching with wide eyes as she brings her weapon up to bear.

For a brief, wild moment, Jace thinks: _is it over?_  

Clary had said that their mother was _kind_ , hadn’t she? Perhaps Jocelyn Fairchild is _brave_ as well, willing to face Valentine a second time to collect the child she’d forsaken so long ago. 

The thought _buoys_ him, brings back a spark of light in the chasm of him, but the hope is borrowed, _brief_. Jocelyn’s weapon is pointed not at _Valentine_ , but at his own  _heart_ , and the realization cuts him _deeper_ than any of his father’s beatings ever had. 

Is it _regret_ that flutters across her features? Jace is almost grateful that he doesn’t know her well enough to know for sure, but he stands motionless and thinks: _go on, then_.

When Valentine _slams_ into him, shoving him to the ground and taking the bolt meant for _him_ , Jace rolls with the impact, keeping his feet even as his father takes a knee.

Dimly, he can hear a familiar voice screaming in the background, but Jace hones in on the pullback of the crossbow as Jocelyn _reloads– father made her miss and now she’s trying again–_ and that alone is almost enough to bring him to his knees.

“ _Run, Jonathan._ They want you _dead._ ”

In the end, it’s Valentine’s voice that snaps him back to reality, _clumsy_ as he reaches for the injured man with shaking hands. 

_Hello, mother. I’m so pleased to meet you._

Her hands are steady, her aim is true. Jace knows she won’t miss a second time. There’s no time to _think_ as he hauls his father into his arms, lunging for the portal as Jocelyn fires off her second shot.

He’s almost _impressed_ at her competence, at the way she anticipates their flight pattern and aims for where they’re _going_ to be instead of where they _are_ , and when the portal pulls them in, the bolt follows them through, tearing through the collar of his jacket even as it embeds itself harmlessly into the Morning Star’s hull.

The back of his neck is stinging and Valentine’s mouth is tight with pain. His fingers come away bloody and Jace thinks: _he saved my life._

They say nothing as they pick themselves up, Jace grasping his father’s elbow as he gets to his feet. All around them, the cages filled with downworlders and Valentine’s experiments fall silent, animals shrinking back against their cages as father and son make their way through the bowels of the ship.

When they reach topside, his father’s soldiers part for them, and Jace thinks: 

_I’m home._


End file.
